Leaving
by Exileian
Summary: PG-13 so far, just for language... I'm not sure if this counts as angst. Just... dark. And not so much that, as of yet. Anyhow, Farf leaves Schwarz. Read. Review. Onegai?


Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the show, manga, etc. So don't sue me. I have sixteen dollars to my name, and the way I'm feeling now, anyone who sues will be torn limb from limb.  
  
I do, however own this plot and whatever original characters may appear. You steal them, and it will be   
-another- reason for me to tear you limb from limb.  
  
A/N: Yeah, I was feeling a bit "SCREW THE WHOLE FUCKING WORLD!!!" When I wrote this. Still am. It takes the series in a bit of a different direction, I suppose, so it's kinda alternate reality. Not AU, though. Nope. Still this universe... I'll shut up now.  
  
  
  
  
The day I left team Schwarz is one I can never forget. It will remain fresh in my memory for as long as I live, though realistically that may not be long, considering the many close calls I've had lately.   
It is clearer in my mind than even the day I killed my family, when I blamed God for their deaths. Oh, don't act so surprised. I may act psychotic, but I know what I did. I know that God had nothing to do with it.   
God doesn't even fucking exist, I'm not an idiot. But truthfully? Life is much easier, and I must say more amusing, when the world thinks you're a raving madman. Not that I'd call myself a truly mentally balanced person.  
I suppose in some ways I really -am- crazy; after all, I take pleasure in killing people and licking sharp objects. Not to mention self-mutilation. But at least I have the presence of mind to know that I am walking a very fine line.  
  
But that's not really the point. I'm just rambling. I've left you all with a nice little mystery. How and why did I leave Schwarz?  
  
Well, it all started with that bastard, Crawford. You have no idea how many times I've nearly snapped and killed the idiot. I can't exactly say what it is that irritates me so much about him.   
He's never really treated me any differently than the others do, I suppose. Maybe it's just that typical American businessman attitude. That man has a stick up his ass. Or more specifically, a three-foot metal rod.  
  
Lately he'd been developing this habit of talking about me as if I weren't standing right there. On this particular day, it was Schuldich he was talking to. I was cleaning the blade of one of extensive collection of knives, and sitting not more than a yard away.  
"We need to do something about Farfarello," he said. I didn't look up at the mention of my name, but kept my gaze carefully on the knife in my hand, listened to the conversation, briefly entertained the idea of putting a blade through his heart.  
  
"Why?" Schuldich glanced over at me. "He seems the same as ever to me."  
  
"That's exactly the problem. I'm surprised he hasn't gotten us killed or caught yet. He's a good enough fighter, but we can't have him off in his own little world all the time."  
My own little world... Yes, a world stained with blood, where every irritating bastard like him is already dead...  
  
"And just what do you suggest we do, mein freund? Get rid of him? Where the hell do you think we'd find a replacement?" Amazing. Schuldich. Defending me.   
As if that man ever cared to help anyone in his entire fucking life... unless it benifited him somehow, of course.  
  
"Maybe we don't need a replacement. We could manage just fine without him. Probably better. If we get caught because of him, we will have no hope of any sort. If we manage to stay out of prison, we'll go broke paying the lawyers."   
I may be crazy, but I'm sure as hell not stupid, I thought, irritated. I can be reckless, but did he really think I would get us caught? The hand that held my knife twitched. Had I ever wanted so badly to see it planted in his chest, or to draw it across his throat?   
Was it -possible- to want it any more?  
  
"Get the stick out of your ass, Crawford." They both turned and stared at me. Had I ever said anything of the sort since joining up wiht Schwarz? Or ever at all? As Jei, I had been far too innocent and polite. These days I didn't even speak much, and when I did it was to keep up the facade of a near-whimsically insane man.  
"If you want me gone," I continued coolly, "then say it. To me. Don't talk about me like some small child who can't understand the grown-ups. Just say the words, and I leave." I swear, the bastard's jaw dropped. His eyes looked as if they might pop out of his head.   
"No? Well maybe I'll go anyway. Rent a nice little aparment with a flower box in the window, maybe?" All of the resentment that had built up within me over time was finally overflowing, and damn did it ever feel good.  
  
I slammed him against the wall, putting my knife to his throat as I'd so longed to do. "Listen to me, you jackass, maybe I'm crazy and maybe I'm not, but either way, my possibly insane self -really- would like to see you dead, so maybe we're both better off if I leave."  
  
With that, I released him somewhat reluctantly, walked out the door. I met Nagi on my way out. "Hey, Farf, where're you going?" I ignored him completely. "Farf?"  
  
What am I doing? I wondered. Where the hell am I going to go? Then a thought formed in my head, one so perfectly ironic that it was irresistable. I was going to Ireland. I was going home.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
J-chan's note: So, what think you of my venting? It's short, I know, but I actually feel somewhat better from it! Huzzah. Anyway, review. Now. Or I'll sick Farf on you. 


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